


Along the Basin

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-19
Updated: 2004-01-19
Packaged: 2018-11-20 08:11:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11331858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: On a rainy night in DC, Mulder and Krycek have a conversation.





	Along the Basin

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Along the Basin

### Along the Basin

#### by Verily

  


TITLE: Along the Basin  
AUTHOR: Verily  
EMAIL:   
DISTRIBUTION: Archive Freely 

**RATING: R**  
**CATEGORIES: VA**  
**KEYWORDS: M/K UST**  
SPOILERS: None 

SUMMARY: On a rainy night in DC, Mulder and Krycek have a conversation. 

Disclaimers: The X-files, Mulder, and Krycek belong to FOX and 1013 Productions. I do not own them. It's probably a good thing. 

Author's Notes: You know, I've been enjoying reading X-files fanfic for years, but I've never written any feedback to any of the authors that I enjoy. I guess I just never felt worthy of contacting y'all. Anyway, it's going to be a running policy of mine to dedicate everything that comes out of this word processor to all you guys and gals that provide me with so much limitless entertainment (not to mention high quality writing) that's just a dialup connection away. As far as this little piece goes, it's just an out-take from a longer story that I'm in the process of cobbling together. If I ever finish that one (and admittedly, encouragement would help...) then I'll thank all of you by name. 

**ALONG THE BASIN**

The pain as he is slammed back into the wall is exquisite. He doesn't bother trying to breathe through it, just rides it out, that first split second of anticipation while his battered nerves are trying muster the strength to send a burst of signals to his thalamus, then the heart-stopping waves of fire and ice that scream through his shoulders and back, that awful tearing sensation he recognizes as tortured flesh ripping through new stitches. He loses himself in it, letting it permeate him completely. He deserves it, it makes him feel alive...pain is all he's made of now. When the worst of it is over, he can feel other things again. The way his shirt and jacket are twisted in the right hand of his assailant, the warm wet feeling of blood under bandages, the way his head aches dully where it impacted the wall, and the cool sensation of stone or brick on the back of his skull. 

He starts to fall, but something stops him, holding him against the damn wall. Sound flows over him again, distant traffic, rain falling on water and on pavement, and closest of all, a montage of syllables, phenomes, words even, he supposes, but none recognizable. Until finally. His name. 

"Mulder." Yes, that's him. "Mulder," again, with a small shake this time. Unbalanced, he feels himself slide sideways, then...nothing. 

"  
Mulder." A sharp crack, and a sting across his cheek. He gasps, drawing in a shaky breath. Feeling more awake, his eyes open. 

"Fuck." He whispers. 

"Yeah nice to see you too." Krycek's head is cocked, and his mouth is twisted into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. 

"You slapped me." Mulder brings a hand up, touching cold fingers to a still stinging cheek. 

"You weren't breathing, you jackass." A brief pause, and then, "What the hell are you doing here Mulder." It's not really a question, because he knows Mulder will never tell him the truth. 

"I'm enjoying the Jefferson Monument by night." Krycek looks at the dome, lit up in the distance. Then he looks back at Mulder. 

"You're supposed to be resting." It's an odd admission of intimate knowledge, since Krycek really should have no idea what went on in Missouri, and no fucking clue that he's bleeding under that official looking FBI trench coat he's wearing. He wants to say something insulting, something that will make Krycek go away. But he can't muster the energy to be convincing. 

"Are you following me?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"Orders." Mulder nods shortly at the answer. Not asking anything else. Maybe too tired of the same old shit to really care if his apartment's been bugged. Maybe he just doesn't give a flying fuck about anything anymore. They're quiet for a minute, Krycek's eyes move constantly, now on Mulder, now on the path toward the monument, now on the horizon, now back to Mulder. He hasn't disarmed the agent. 

"You made the call. The anonymous call. You were in Missouri." Krycek doesn't answer for a moment. Mulder shuts his eyes, remembering the weight of a dead man on top of him, remembering Scully's eyes when she said they found his phone on the floor 10 feet away from him. He knows now that Scully wasn't covering for him. He knows that Krycek moved his phone. 

"I'll drive you home." Mulder doesn't protest, letting Krycek help him stand. They walk for a few moments. Krycek unerringly leading the way to where Mulder parked his car. He holds Mulder back for a few seconds, checking under the body of the Taurus, and in the back seat. Then opens the passenger side door for him. 

"You have keys to my car." It was supposed to come out as indignant, but it sounds flat, even in his own ears. They drive back in silence, and Krycek pulls to a stop in the parking lot of Mulder's building. Neither of them move. There's something Krycek wants to say. 

"Mulder..." He doesn't seem to be able to articulate whatever it is. "Mulder, please don't..." Mulder fixes him with green eyes. Krycek needs to look away. "Please don't give up." He knows then, what Krycek saw in that warehouse. He feels like a chasm separates them-feels almost sorry for the other man. 

"I should go." He steps out of his car, not bothering to pull his coat closed over wet clothing. Thinking about Missouri again, as he knows Krycek is. Letting his mind slide over and past the adrenaline induced panic that had allowed him to wrench his left hand out of the cuffs chaining him to the table, to reach around and grab the knife that was cutting its way down his own back. Sliding past the way it felt to abruptly drive it into Finch's eye. Sliding past the way he had pushed Finch off him. Sliding past the way he had realized that his phone was in his pocket. Sliding past how he had painfully drawn it out with broken fingers that he could feel again as the adrenaline left him. Finally he settles on that cold moment, when he was staring at the display, feeling the blood pool in the small of his back and run down his ribcage onto the table and onto the floor. He thinks it was probably less than five minutes that he lay there, knowing that all he had to do to live was to punch speed dial #1. 

The End   
  

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